


Sasha Cares

by medusacascade22



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Washington Capitals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-01
Updated: 2012-04-01
Packaged: 2017-11-02 21:46:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/medusacascade22/pseuds/medusacascade22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nobody cares about Dmitry, until Alex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sasha Cares

**Author's Note:**

> All dialogue is meant to be in Russian.  
> Comments are encouraged and appreciated!

 

No one cares about Dmitry Orlov.

These days, he’s scratched more than he plays. He isn’t well-known. He doesn’t have a fan following at all, really. He’s just one of those players that exists and fades into the background, making room for the brighter stars to shine.

He thinks all this, sitting in his stall, unlacing his skates after practice. It’s silent around him, no one laughing or talking. Of course he’d get stuck with a stall between Hamrlik and Erskine. He eyes a group of laughing guys in the opposite corner; Ovi and Carlie making plans for a bar later and dragging Karl and Mike into it too.

No one ever begs him to come along, Dima thinks.

Okay, maybe that’s cause it’s hard to talk to him, since he doesn’t really speaks English, but he understands enough to at least be included, right?

Dima has just won the war against the Velcro of his shin pad, and he’s tossing it into the growing pile of sweaty gear, when Sasha is suddenly there, sitting in Hamr’s recently vacated stall, looking worriedly at Dima.

“What’s wrong?” Sasha asks, his Russian low and fast so that no one else can hear, even if they could translate it.

“Nothing, Sasha. I’m fine.” Dima says in a fake cheery tone, but knows Sasha won’t believe him. Somehow, Sasha just knows.

“Come out with us to the bars,” Sasha says.

“You know I can’t,” Dima almost growls. The reminder isn’t helping his moods. “I’m not old enough here. Fucking America,” he spits on the ground, cursing his age for the millionth time in his head.

“Oh, right,” Sasha remembers. He looks off into the corner for a moment, thinking. “I’ll come over after, then? Bring some vodka?”

“You don’t have to,” Dima tells him, but really, the drink is all he wants right now.

“I know, but I will anyway.” Sasha grins, claps Dima on the shoulder, and heads back to his own stall. Dima watches him grab his bags, say a quick goodbye to the rest of the guys, and head out.

Everyone says that Alex Semin doesn’t care, but Dima knows different.

 

Sasha stays true to his word, which only sort of surprises Dima, who had passed out on his couch hours ago, the lights of the only Russian channel he could get flickering across his face.

The sound of the doorbell wakes him and he goes to answer, rubbing the sleep out of eyes with the sides of his fists and stumbling a little. He opens the door and there Sasha is, standing on the doorstep, a paper bag in his hand and a smile on his face.

“I brought vodka!” Sasha says triumphantly when Dima doesn’t let him in right away, holding the bag up into the air like the trophy that it is. Dima takes the hint and steps out of the way, letting Sasha in, who heads straight to the couch that Dima just vacated.

“If you ever want to learn English, you have to stop watching this channel.” Sasha says, reaching into the bag and opening the bottle it produces with his teeth.

“Like you’d know,” Dima says, but his focus is on Alex’s mouth. He tells himself it’s because of the vodka but it kind of isn’t.

“I know plenty of English,” Sasha argues, taking a swig before passing the bottle to Dima. “I just choose not to use it.” Dima rolls his eyes but drinks, the burn welcome and missed in the back of his throat.

While Dima drinks, Sasha finds the remote, and switches to some American channel with bright colors and dumb teenagers and fast music that Dima doesn’t understand a word of. He’s about to object but Sasha insists that the only way to learn English is to be surrounded by it. Dima wants to point out that he’s always surrounded by it, home is the only escape, but decides to be quiet and just drink instead.

The plan works out pretty well, they pass the bottle between each other, and soon Dima is buzzed enough that he wouldn’t care about the TV even if it was in a language he understood.

“You’ve only had half a bottle and you’re already drunk. You are an embarrassment to the entirety of Russia.” Sasha teases.

“I’m not drunk, just a little buzzed.” Dima argues. “Plus, it’s been a fucking long time!” he clutches the bottle to his chest protectively, like Sasha might take it away. Instead, he just laughs, so Dima throws a pillow at his dumb face. It doesn’t go anywhere near Sasha, but Dima decides that his aim is allowed to be off when he’s just had vodka for the first time in months and the room is basically dark anyway.

Sasha scoots closer to Dima on the couch, their shoulders and knees touching. Dima doesn’t mind, thinks it’s comforting, even. He can smell Sasha like this. He smells like home. Dima feels so comfortable that he can’t exactly blame himself when his head drops to the crook of Sasha’s neck, heavy with sleep and drink. Sasha smiles, and nuzzles his cheek into the top of Dima’s hair. His hand lands on Dima’s knee, squeezing it a little.

“Thanks,” Dima says quietly. He can’t decide if he’s more grateful for the vodka or the company. The cloud in his head and the smell of Sasha aren’t making it any easier for him to figure out. “For… you know.”

“Any time, Dmitry.” Sasha whispers back.

Sasha turns his head quickly and presses a soft, almost fleeting kiss to Dima’s lips. Dima is left shocked, not completely sure that it even happened. Sasha has turned back to the TV and Dima doesn’t know what to say, so he stays quiet, heart beating fast and loud.

He wants nothing more than to reach over and touch Sasha, feel skin under his fingertips, feel the pressure of their lips together again. Dima thinks it was nice, it was comforting, it was _home_ , but he knows he’s too much of a coward to do anything about it now.

“Sorry,” Sasha says a minute later. The sound snaps Dima out of his own thoughts. He looks over at Sasha, who is still staring at the TV, refusing to meet Dima’s eyes.

“Don’t be,” Dima manages to squeak out. “It was… it was nice.”

Sasha finally turns to look Dima directly in the eyes. He wants to shrink away from the intensity of Sasha’s gaze, but Dima holds strong, and hopes his lip isn’t quivering as much as he thinks.

“In that case,” Sasha whispers. He closes the space between them a little more with each word, until their foreheads are almost touching.

Dima thinks the anticipation is going to kill him just before Sasha finally moves in all the way, brushing their lips together lightly, not even quite a kiss yet. Sasha can feel Dima’s knee shaking and smiles.

“Don’t be scared,” Sasha exhales over Dima’s lips, and that’s all Dima needs to lunge forward, mouths pressing up against each other with more pressure than finesse.

Sasha winds a hand around the back of Dima’s neck, causing him to relax into Sasha’s lips, realizing that Sasha is into this and it wasn’t a huge mistake. The kiss softens then and becomes a melding of lips instead of hard pressure. Dima clutches at Sasha’s sides, wanting to feel and touch and hold.

Sasha takes control of the kiss, tipping Dima’s head back and dipping his tongue deep into Dima’s mouth. All Dima can do is moan a little and suck around Sasha’s tongue. Sasha gasps, breaking apart, eyes dark and alive.

“Oh, you little fucker,” Sasha almost laughs. A blush rises to Dima’s cheeks. “Bedroom, now.” Sasha commands. Dima lets Sasha lead him into his own bedroom and sits gingerly on his bed. Sasha stands between Dima’s knees, looking down at him through thick lashes.

“Do you want this?” Sasha asks, a little hesitant.

“So much,” Dima admits. Sasha sighs a little in relief and Dima reaches for Sasha’s hips, pulling him closer. Sasha dips his head down to connect their lips again and Dima’s mouth falls open easily for Sasha’s tongue.

Dima gasps a little when Sasha grinds against him, the bulge in his sweatpants only growing. His hands reach from Sasha’s hips to grab at his ass, grinding along with him. Sasha moans into Dima’s mouth and slowly pushes Dima down onto his back and crawls over him, never letting their mouths disconnect.

Sasha reaches down to tug at the waistband of Dima’s pants. Dima lifts his hips helpfully, letting Sasha pull them off and quickly slide his hand into Dima’s boxers. Dima bites at Sasha’s bottom lip as Sasha starts stroking slowly, a moan building in his throat.

“Sasha,” Dima groans against his lips. Sasha relishes in the sound and strokes Dima faster, causing Dima’s head to drop against the bed. His eyes squeeze shut and his breathe labors a bit. Sasha leans down to nibble at Dima’s exposed neck.

“Fuck, Sasha, I’m…” Dima starts, but Sasha removes his hand. Dima whines at the loss of contact but Sasha quiets him with a quick kiss.

“Not yet,” Sasha tells him and Dima thinks maybe he can live with that. Sasha rolls off of Dima and pulls his shirt off, then starts working on his ridiculously tight pants. Dima decides to undress as well, even though he’s perfectly content to watch Sasha, especially when he sees that Sasha wasn’t wearing anything underneath his jeans.

Dima tosses his boxers off the side of the bed as Sasha lays down next to him, lacing his hands behind his head, a smug smile on his lips. Dima straddles him, their cocks brushing together. Dima grabs at Sasha’s arms, pinning them above his head, and kisses him hard and rough, holding nothing back. Sasha groans and ruts up against Dima’s hips, searching for friction.

“I’m going to suck you off,” Dima says, struggling to keep his voice steady.

“Please,” Sasha whines, hips wriggling a little.

Dima slides down Sasha’s body, pressing kisses along the way, and making Sasha gasp each time. Finally, Dima reaches Sasha’s cock, taking it into his hand and nuzzling at his inner thigh.

“C’mon, Dima,” Sasha practically begs. His hands fist in Dima’s hair, trying to pull him over to his cock. Dima laughs a little, and teasingly kisses the head. Sasha makes the filthiest sound that Dima has ever heard and he’s determined to hear it again.

Slowly, Dima wraps his tongue around the shaft, covering the length with spit and stroking. He then lowers his head and takes as much of Sasha in as he can. Dima stays still for a moment, letting Sasha thrust into his mouth a little, before pressing Sasha’s hip into the mattress to still him.

Dima sucks and twirls his tongue and hums and tries not to use his teeth. Sasha is vocal, moaning when Dima does something he likes, which only eggs Dima on, makes him want to hear the noises over and over. Sasha’s hands card through Dima’s hair, leg wrapping around Dima’s back.

It’s kind of messy and Dima isn’t an expert at this but Sasha keeps digging his heels into the bed and swearing in every language so Dima takes it as a good sign.

Dima swallows around Sasha and suddenly he’s coming. Dima chokes a little, not expecting it, but manages to pull off and stroke Sasha through the rest of it. When it’s over, Sasha tugs at Dima until he comes to lie next to him. Sasha wastes no time in connecting their lips, tasting himself on Dima’s tongue. He reaches down to stroke Dima again.

His grip is tight and he flicks his wrist a bit and squeezes and it doesn’t take Dima long before he’s panting into Sasha’s mouth and coming in between their chests.

Sasha wipes his hand off on the bedspread then cradles Dima’s face in his hand, kissing him softly.

“That was…” Dima sighs, unable to finish the thought.

“Good.” Sasha finishes for him, smiling fondly.

“Yeah,” Dima returns it. “Good.”

They curl up into each other, kissing lazily every now and then, and fall asleep with their lips just inches apart.

When Dima wakes up, Sasha’s elbow is digging into his side and his stomach is sticky and there’s still come in his hair but Dima can only smile because finally someone cares and he’s pretty sure it’s the best feeling in the world.

 

~fin

**Author's Note:**

> Can I just point out that this is the 700th work in this fandom? I feel pretty cool.


End file.
